


cast

by perpetuallyangryinsomniac



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blink And You Miss It Slash, Canon Compliant, Cuban Lance (Voltron), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Farmer Lance (Voltron), Galra Keith (Voltron), Hurt Lance (Voltron), I'm Sorry, Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Korean Keith (Voltron), M/M, POV Keith (Voltron), Pining Keith (Voltron), Post-Canon, Pre-Slash, his name is cosmo you uncultured swines, just this once I'll accept canon s8, kind of, rip allura, subtle tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-11-29 07:37:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18220163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perpetuallyangryinsomniac/pseuds/perpetuallyangryinsomniac
Summary: Team Voltron is down their princess, their glue, and five giant robots. They're splintered, a team only in name and memorials.Still. The diplomacy must go on. After all, what use is Voltron except as the subject of a parade every second weekend?(In which Lance isn't in the mood to be ambassadorial, and Keith is... well, Keith.)





	cast

**Author's Note:**

> I'm working on so many things (not uni work, never uni work) but the bush burnt and a mysterious voice told me I had to write this down. Here we are, eight hours later.
> 
> Enjoy. Or don't, I don't own you.

Even though landing a spaceship, even a modern one, is possibly the loudest activity on Earth, Keith walks to the door. Mostly because it’s become habit to approach people who need saving without hesitation (and isn’t that a far cry from where he started?) but partly because he’s excited. Habit isn’t what slaps the grin on his face, either.

     He opens the flyscreen and steps into a mudroom of sorts, jackets strewn about and boots stuffed against the skirting board. A tabby nestled in the mess peeks at him with one eye.

     “Anyone home?” he calls, his smile colouring his tone. Cosmo zaps to his side. The cat flicks its tail, glaring.

     “Just a tic!”

     Keith hasn’t been here before, so curiosity has him peering through the doorway and into a living room, but he’s too stilted to properly explore. “Any day now!”

     Cosmo has no sense of politeness and bounds off. Within seconds he’s setting off a chain of hisses and barks and a very human yelp, followed by: “Dog! Cosmo, you little- _sit!_ Don’t- oh, for god’s sake.” How many animals live in this house, Keith doesn’t know. It sounds like a lot.

     Lance appears in the doorway, dragging Cosmo by the long scruff around his neck. He’s at shoulder height, now. “Would it have killed you to train him, even a little? Jeez, he’s _giant_.” He blinks down at Keith. “Is she actually letting you pat her?”

     Keith looks at the tabby, purring under his glove. “Yes?” He stretches from a crouch.

     “Bastard cat.” Lance rolls his eyes fondly. “I guess you’re, what, cousins, right? The Galra are basically cats. _Remy, no!_ ” A tiny brown dog darts under his legs and out the front door, and Cosmo shoots after it. Lance is yanked halfway across the room before he gives up wrestling him, and they both watch the insanely disproportionate dogs circle each other in the yard. Keith helps him to his feet. If Lance is surprised when he opens his arms, he doesn’t say so.

     Lance is one of those people who never stops moving. He rocks when he hugs, squeezing Keith’s shoulders. “Hi, by the way.”

     “Hi,” Keith says, squeezing back.

     “It’s been a minute.” Lance taps his back. Keith assumes it means uncle and lets him go.

     “Ready?”

     Lance blinks. “Can’t rush perfection, Keith.”

     “So, yes?”

     Lance rolls his eyes again. “We’ve got, what?” He checks his wrist for a watch that isn’t there. “A couple of hours to get there? Can I have a drink before we go, your majesty?”

     He heads down the hall without waiting for an answer. Keith glances back at Cosmo to make sure he hasn’t made Lance’s dog a chew toy and then follows him.

     He knows the house is new because Lance boasted that he helped build it last time they saw each other, but it looks lived in all the same. Does he get a lot of visitors? Maybe it’s a side effect of proximity to Lance; he has the uncanny ability to make anything feel homey. Keith saw it on the Castle, the Atlas, in their team.

     Lance bustles around, so he pulls out a chair. The cat curled up on it swipes lazily at him, so he replaces it and moves to the next. Lance hands him a mug of something warm, and even though he couldn’t care less about taste after enduring the Blade’s menu, he asks, “What’s this?”

     “Coffee,” Lance proclaims, digging inside his pantry. “Strong stuff. Cuban.” He manages to sling a finger gun over his shoulder. Keith sips it slowly.

     “How long’s it been?”

     Lance stops, looking at the ceiling as he calculates. “About fourth months. You?”

     “One and a bit.” He looks at his coffee. It is strong, but he can barely taste it over the burn it leaves on his tongue.

     He hadn’t realised so much time had passed on Earth. It’s hard to keep track of, no matter how long he’s up there.

     Lance doesn’t look upset. “Let me introduce you to everyone.” Keith cocks an eyebrow. “The lovely lady on your right is Squish. The tabby is Motherfuckin’ Starboy, but we call him Fly.” He points at the bulky grey cat who emerges from the pantry to wind around his feet. “This is Wombat the fifth. He comes from a long line of Wombats. Family name. The dog is Remy, and he has a sister, Chipotle, running around here somewhere. She wanders off. She’s a sweetheart.”

     “Who’s we?”

     He blinks. “Well, me, I guess.”

     Keith changes the subject. “What have you been doing?”

     “Uh, farming? It’s no saving the world, or universe, or multiverse, but it’s okay. I see my family a lot. Pidge, too. The Garrison calls me up to give lectures a lot, now that classes are starting again.”

     “Have they asked you to teach?” They’d asked him a lot. They’d lost a lot of experienced pilots when the Atlas launched. Although settling into an intergalactic presence and rebuilding was the top priority initially, life had to go on. The Atlas would need a new crew one day.

     “Yeah. I said no, for obvious reasons.” Keith doesn’t know what these could be, but the way Lance focuses extra hard on his hands tells him he should bite back the question. He scratches behind Squish’s ear instead.

     Lance scribbles a note- to his mom, he explains- and then declares himself ready.

     Keith looks him up and down, taking in his hoodie and jeans. “Do you have a suit?”

     “Yup.”

     “Helmet?”

     “Yes.”

     “ID?” They needed them to enter and exit Earth’s atmosphere nowadays, and although the rules were certainly laxer for paladins of Voltron, they couldn’t afford the delay.

     “ _Yes_ , mother.” Lance leads the way out.

     He hefts a bag onto his shoulder and locks the door behind him. At Keith’s odd look, he smirks. “Been a while since you’ve had to carry keys around, hm?”

     Keith shrugs. “I don’t think I’ve ever had keys, really.”

     “Right. Desert shack. No neighbours or paparazzi try’n’a nab ya stuff back in the day.”

     Keith’s mouth tugs downwards in displeasure. “People try to steal from you? Seriously?”

     Tucking his hands into his pockets and nudging him off the porch with his elbow, Lance sighs, “They did in the beginning. But we’re old news, now.”

     Cosmo abandons his new playmate and zaps them straight into the cockpit. Lance hops forward to inspect the dash, face cast in a soft blue glow. His eyes shine, alight with some old passion.

     “You wanna fly?”

     He doesn’t look up, just smiles with half of his mouth. “Nah.” He clears his throat. “So, how fast does this thing go, Samurai?”

     Keith sees the distraction for what it is, and he suddenly, irrationally, wishes he could conjure a co-pilot’s chair from thin air. Or call the Lions back from wherever they disappeared to. His fingers flex on the controls. “Is that a challenge?”

     Lance grabs the shoulder of his chair, stance pre-emptively widening for balance. “Hell yeah, it is.”

     The farm falls away in a blur of colour and breathless laughter.

 

A few hours into their flight, Keith yells, “Can you grab the stick for a minute?” After a second of quiet, he adds, “Lance? I need to pee!”

     “TMI.” Lance skips into the cockpit, Cosmo at his heels. He looks up at Lance like he hung the moon, all starry eyed and swooshing tail. “Can’t you put it on autopilot?”

     “Nope.”

     Lance looks like he’s going to argue. He traces a hesitant finger across the dash, mouth twisted. “’Kay,” he says softly, “Fine.”

     Keith bites back a smile. “Great. You remember how?”

     Shooting him a withering glare, Lance takes his place in the chair. “ _Yes_.”

     With a quick pat for his entranced space wolf, Keith leaves him be. He’s one part triumphant and two parts relieved.

     Shiro said that Lance might never fly again after he announced he was moving to his family’s place. That maybe it would just be too hard after everything they’ve been through. After Allura. He, at least, thought of Adam every time he was in the air.

     Keith knew better, though. Impossibility had never stopped Lance before.

 

“Took your sweet time. Number two?”

     “I thought you were number two?”

     He makes a face. “Um, _no_.”

     “Mhm.”

     “ _You’re_ number two! Coz, Shiro! You’re pee _and_ poop!”

     “Okay.”

     “Shut up!”

     Keith laughs. Lance grumbles under his breath. “What?”

     “I _said_ , you’re on Pity Patrol today.” The smile drops off Keith’s face. “Ha,” Lance says with a disappointed kind of victory. “Go on, ask then.”

     “Ask what?”

     Lance puts his chin on his fist, pouting at something out the window. “ _Are you okay? How ya holdin’ up, buddy? You wanna talk about it?”_

     “Do you?”

     “Hush, I’m not finished. _You know we’re all here for you. Anything you need. It’s okay to be sad, Lance, you’ve been through so much!_ ”

     “You done?”

     He turns his face away.

     “I just,” he exhales. “I want things to be like they were.” He waves a hand to shut Keith up. “Not like that. I mean, yeah, but. I just mean- you don’t need to be like _this_. We can still fight, or whatever. Just be friends, not, like, _mourning buddies_. Stop asking what I want and just- do what you want. I guess.”

     “You’re the one who changed the conversation. I was happy to talk about poop.”

     “And trying to trick me into flying?” Keith glances away. “See?”

     “Sorry.” Lance just looks at him.

     “So you really don't have a speech prepared?”

     He shrugs. “Does Pidge usually give you a speech?”

     “Every time I see her. I know she wants that doctor in front of her name, but she’s a terrible therapist.”

     Keith hums, absently watching Lance white knuckle the joystick. “She’s better at robots than feelings.”

     “Says you.”

     “Says _you_.”

     “Fair.” They watch the stretch of dead space pass for a while. Cosmo interrupts the majesty of it all by slurping at something between the pads of his toes. He watches them unblinkingly, daring them to shut him up.

     “If you _do_ want to talk-”

     Lance cuts him off with a groan that echoes around the cockpit. It lasts longer than Keith expects; an impressive display of lung capacity. “I’m a swimmer,” Lance explains when he stops laughing at the unexpected approval. “You kind of _have_ to hold your breath under water, Keith.”

 

They’re the first ones to arrive. The surface of the planet is dark in the early morning and completely flat. The entire population lives underground in a network of tunnels dating back decaphoebs. The planet has drifted away from their sun and is no longer in danger of the radiation that they burrowed away from, but their history is under the surface and so they are too. At least, that’s what their welcome party tells them. It’s made up of a single Wi’suty. His broad chitin eyebrows slant when they step off their ship.

     He doesn’t introduce himself. “I was under the impression you’d be arriving together.” His voice is flat, but still manages to convey how utterly inconvenienced he feels.

     Keith’s helmet chimes triumphantly, letting him know the air is safe to breathe. Lance’s takes a second longer, accounting for his lack of Galran genes. They’re a pretty adaptable species thanks to a few millennia of conquering.

     “Sorry,” Keith says, although he offers no explanation.

     “No matter. Would you like to see the statues, then?”

     He leads them down slowly, stopping every dobosh or so to seal a door behind them. He explains that the mechanical pockets are used more out of habit than necessity. The tunnel doesn’t loop at all, as far as Keith can tell, and it slopes so gently they can barely feel it. He wonders how long they have to walk to reach the city where the ceremony will be held. Lance complains quietly about the stale air. The Wi’suty ignores him, his long claws clicking on a triangular keypad.

     Halfway down they turn off the main path. The doors are further apart and every one is scraped within an inch of its life at the bottom. “Most of the materials were too heavy to carry the whole way, and Mar wanted only the best for Voltron. It was easy to build a new passage than try to get it that far undamaged.”

     It sounds almost sarcastic in his even voice, but Keith suspects he’s being sincere. Since the threat of invasion has mostly faded, a huge number of planets focus their efforts on gaining Voltron’s favour.

     (They still call them Voltron, although the Lions are gone.)

     “Don’t worry, we installed a shuttle to transport the statues to the surface. Easier than carrying them that far, undamaged.”

     “We couldn’t have taken the shuttle?” Lance mumbles. Keith huffs a laugh.

     The Wi’suty isn’t deterred. “We decided to put the statues on the surface. Our only structure above the ground. Like the planet revolves around you.” Keith swears his beady eyes narrow, but it’s impossible to tell.

     “Is everyone going up to see them, then?”

     Their guide presses his back-facing ears against his scalp. “That would take monumental effort. We’ll film it.”

     “Of course.” Lance nods seriously but meets Keith’s gaze. Even with a blank face, Keith can feel the amusement rolling off him.

     The last door slides open, screeching along its scraped bottom frame. The cavern is mostly empty, a heavy circular platform in the centre and a door directly above it. Another Wi’suty stands on it, considering the colourful statues before them.

     “Wow,” Lance says. Their guide leads the way, introducing them blandly to Mar, the sculptor.

     She looks bored with them, maybe because she’s been staring at their photos for however long. Peering at Keith, she shakes her head. “Smaller in real life.” Keith determinedly ignores Lance’s wicked grin, watching her waddle back to his statue. She swipes away some of the stone by his chin with only her claw. The shavings fall like snow.

     “That’s what she said,” Lance whispers, apparently unsatisfied with Keith’s reaction. He sighs, which makes Lance laugh harder.

     Mar reappears to evaluate Lance’s face, circling him appraisingly. He strikes a pose. The sculptor glances back at her statue, thin nostrils twitching. She doesn’t make any changes to his, so he points at them, eyebrow raised. She gestures for them to go ahead.

     They’re set back-to-back in a circle, each with their own base. They’re going to look lost, defending each other in the Wi’sut desert.

     They’re all life size, although Keith has grown a little in the last year so his is slightly shorter than him. His suit, skin and hair is made of a rough black stone, shot through with fiery veins of orange and yellow. Aside from the colour, it’s very life like. Only his eyes look out of place, rings of red protruding inelegantly from under his drawn brow.

     “She really captured your angst,” Lance says, stroking his chin. Keith would argue, but he has to agree. His face is cast in discontent at every angle.

     Lance circles to the statue’s left, away from his own likeness. Away from Allura, but also, technically, towards her.

     Shiro’s statue is smooth, like marble, and a deep purple. He looks angry, too. “It’s very, uh.”

     “Galran,” Keith finishes quietly. Lance nods.

     “What’s with his hair?”

     Mar shuffles between them. “He’s made of derzenite, our city’s favoured material. It’s mined in plenty from below our streets, even years after we established them. It has regenerative properties.”

     Lance frowns. “Like amethyst?”

     “I’ve never heard of it.” She turns up her nose. “It regenerates itself, so it’s always plentiful. When exposed to heat, it turns white. It seemed fitting.” She gestures to Shiro’s fringe. Keith wonders if she’ll be disappointed when she realises that all of it is white, now.

     “Won’t the statue be ruined, if it grows?” Lance asks, leaning closer like he can watch it multiply in real time.

     “I petrified it,” Mar explains. “It shouldn’t grow anymore.”

     “That’s so cool,” he says, side stepping to see Pidge’s. Keith considers Shiro’s face. It’s all sharp angles, blanker than the real deal. No worry lines or gentle smile. Mar certainly captured his handsome side, but the black rings for eyes are cold. Maybe it’s the purple pupil that throws him off, brings back memories. He gets the feeling that Shiro won’t like it, though he’d never say so. He follows Lance and the sculptor, unnerved.

     Even tiny, Pidge looks ferocious, mouth frozen in a battle cry. Her katar is high above her head, ready to be brought down over her shoulder. Despite her countenance, the soft green stone reminds Keith of a jade Buddha. Matt’s glasses are missing from her nose, her irises a darker green than the rest.

     “Jeez,” Lance says, looking up at Hunk. Keith joins him. The golden paladin looks scarier than he ever has in real life- even during battle. His pale eyes glare at some enemy above their heads.

     “You don’t like it?” Mar asks. Without the rise and fall of her voice it sounds like a statement.

     “Oh, no,” Lance rushes, “Just, it’s.” His mouth snaps shut.

     “We haven’t seen him in a while. It looks a lot like him.” Mar looks between them with as much curiosity as she can muster.

     Lance nods. “Right.”

     He looks at the next statue from the feet up; Keith watches him take her in. Like the others, it’s incredibly lifelike. Down to the pores in her skin. She’s the only one so far with a smile on their face, her helmet tucked under one elbow, her other held out almost in offering. That hand glitters with something akin to actual stardust, the balls of light hovering above her palm and climbing up her wrist and fingers.

     Voice strong, even, Lance asks, “How’d you get the gems to float like that?”

     “It floats on its own. Not gems,” Mar says, sounding almost smug, “But a type of fungus that grows only around Wi’sut’s core.”

     Lance recoils a little, hand ducking back to his chest.

     “ _That_ ,” Mar emphasises with a flick of her claws, “Will grow. It was an idea of mine, to have the magic spread, as it did within her. If our people ever return to the surface, perhaps it will be covered in it.” She moves on to Lance’s statue.

     Keith steps to his side. Because she’s shorter, they’re both able to meet her gaze, unfocused and faraway as it is. The pink is in her eyes and Altean marks. It stands out against her smooth blue skin.

     “It’s pretty,” Lance says quietly. Keith hums his agreement. Her hair is wilder, in her face and hanging by her waist in thick curls. He can’t tell if Lance really likes it. Together, they move to the last statue.

     Lance is on one knee, a long gun fitted over his shoulder. He only has one blue eye set into his bright red skin, the other squinted closed. It looks made of metal more than stone. Lance crouches down to inspect the details of his twin’s face.

     Mar looks between them. She looks offended, her chitin brows pulled together. “You’re not Altean.”

     He cocks his head at her. “What?”

     “You’re not Altean,” she repeats, claws curling individually like she’s playing the piano.

     Lance glances at Keith. He taps his own cheekbone.

     “Oh, these?” He swipes his fingertips over the marks, as if to check they haven’t disappeared. “Yeah, they kinda… Allura gave them to me.” Mar is already scuttling off, digging through the sparse materials by the door. Their tour guide watches boredly.

     “I don’t know if I have enough blue.” Although still level, her voice is raised in pitch. Keith figures she must be stressed. “We imported it from your own planet.”

     “You did?” Lance is looking at his one eye again. Keith squats too, impressed by the familiarity in the curl of statue-Lance’s smirk. _Sapphire, maybe?_ he wonders. He doesn’t know the name of any other blue Earth gem.

     “All of them are from earth. All the eyes, that is. I don’t know if I have enough.”

     “Oh, it’s o-”

     “Here. Just enough.” She hurries back over with a raw chunk of blue nestled in her palm. With a glance between the two Lances, she digs into the gem; her claw curves through it without resistance. She shoos them both back with a flick of her wrist, then taps tiny dents in the metal Lance’s cheeks. When she spits on the blue stone in her hand, Lance sputters.

     “Wi’suty have an adhesive quality to their saliva. It made burrowing easier in the earlier days, before technology learned to do the job for us.” Lance sends Keith a baffled look, shaking his head.

     When Mar steps back, satisfied once more, both Lances have Altean marks of mysterious origin.

     “Well, there you go,” Lance says. He isn’t smiling.

     “Are they to your liking, Paladins?”

     Keith nods, moving away from them. “They’re great.”

     “Should we go check if the others have arrived?” Lance looks back at their guide.

     “They haven’t,” he says with surety.

     “Maybe we should wait for them up there anyway.”

     The Wi’suty twiddles his claws. “If that’s what you wish,” he says slowly. Lance looks at his statue, then the frozen, angry Keith, and then the real one.

     “Good idea.” He tries to keep the question out of his tone, but Lance hears it anyway. He dismisses it by taking the lead out of the cavern.

     Keith thanks Mar for speaking to them. She inclines her head gently.

     And then he’s following Lance back into the morning.

 

They emerge from the ground to find a cold dawn breaching the horizon. The air is sharp in Keith’s mouth, but Lance breathes it in like he’d been choking underground. Maybe he’s become unacclimated to recycled oxygen since moving back to Earth.

     The rising sun dusts everything it touches with a milky gold. The shadows look and taste of silver. Why the Wi’suty still live underground, Keith could never guess. It’s beautiful up here.

     Lance is beautiful up here. His hair is getting shaggy, and the tips catch the light in golden fire. The marks on his cheeks look brighter when he smiles.

     He catches Keith’s eye, and for a moment he lets him hold it. Then Lance is pointing over his shoulder. “Is that the Atlas?”

     Their guide perks up his backwards ears. “The rest of Voltron?” he asks stonily, lipless snout stretching into a disturbing smile.

     “Yeah.”

     Already striding up the gangway, Keith says, “I’ll check their ETA. Shiro probably sent a message.”

     Shooting a glance at their host, Lance calls, “I’ll come.”

     Cosmo practically melts over the sides of the pilot chair, even curled up as he is. His head hangs over one arm, his entire rump on the floor. His tail thumps lazily as Keith reaches over him to flick on the comms. There’s two messages already, but a new one comes through almost immediately.

     “Keith, that you?”

     “And Lance! Hey, sis.”

     “Hey, Lance. How long have you guys been down there?”

     Keith looks at the three clock faces on the dash; the Daibazaal and Altean ones built in, and the cheap plastic Earth clock taped down beside them. “About an hour? We were underground.”

     “Ugh, sorry. I’ve met the Wi’suty before. They’re kinda creepy, right? Anyway, I’ve been chatting with Cosmo while we waited. We should land in about a varga. See you then.”

     “Wait, I wanna- guys?”

     “Shiro.” Keith smiles. Lance flicks him; when their eyes meet, he makes a heart with his hands and blinks dreamily out the window. Keith shoves him, rolling his eyes.

     “It’s been ages! We’re still a while out. Did you see the statues yet? Are they good?”

     “They’re like all the rest,” Keith says.

     "How are you, Lance?”

     He sends Keith a pointed look, mouthing _told ya so_. “Good, thanks.”

     “Don’t get too excited,” Keith jumps in. “The ceremony is above ground, and no-one wants to come out. I think it’s just going to be us, two aliens, and a camera.”

     “Two and a half, if you count Keith,” Lance amends, leaning into the microphone.

     “Is Curtis coming?” Keith hopes his smirk transfers.

     “Keith,” Shiro growls. His voice sounds strangely high-pitched over the comms.

     Another voice pipes up, “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

     “Oh, hi.” Keith looks at Lance. “Okay, cya soon.” He flicks the comms off quickly. “You heard that, right?”

     “That _Curtis_ is coming,” he sings, “Or Shiro’s super manly voice crack? Because both. I heard both.” His eyes crease as his cheeks lift. “Dude, stop it. You look like a lovesick puppy.”

     Because he probably does look a little maniacal, Keith obeys, smoothing down his grin. “Sorry. I’m just happy for him. Stupid idiot needed some good in his life.”

     Cosmo licks a stripe up Lance’s cheek. He pats him, eyes unfocused. “Yeah. He deserves it.”

 

They wait for the Atlas on the gangway, Lance leaning back on his hands and Keith flattened beneath Cosmo’s giant body. He gulps in the stinging air between mounds of thick fur, struggling under the wolf’s weight.

     “What do you eat, buddy?” Lance coos. He makes no move to help. “You’re so fat! In the best way.”

     Freeing one hand to scrape loose fur off his tongue, Keith says, “I give him dethert thometimbes.”

     “Lay off the cookie dough, bud. You gotta maintain your figure!” He squishes Cosmo’s cheeks, revealing his canines, and shakes his face gently. The stupid wolf doesn’t even care, just groans happily. Lance folds his ears back, pulling his forehead with it. “You have such beautiful eyes!”

     From Keith’s angle he looks entirely horrific, jowls stretched backwards, bald and showcasing the whites of his eyes. It’s another one of Lance’s super powers, though; finding the good in everything. As long as he’s not busy complaining.

     The tip of Cosmo’s tongue pokes between his teeth, and Lance squeals. “Aw! I missed you so much, little guy.” Wrapping his arms around the wolf’s thick neck, he adds to the weight pressing down on Keith’s chest. Cosmo’s tail thumps his thigh.

     “You take him, then.” Keith shoves at his side, but the stupid dog doesn’t even care.

     “Keith, you gotta bring him to see me more often. You can’t keep us apart like this.” He narrows his eyes at him over Cosmo’s shoulder, hands working through his mane.

     “He’d probably have more fun on the farm, anyway. Keep him.”

     Lance gasps. “You take that back! Don’t listen to him, puppy. He’s delirious because he can’t breathe.”

     Cosmo yips. Keith gives up, his head smacking against the metal floor.

     Unwinding himself, Lance looks down at him. “Really, though. You should come see me more. I make good, um.” His gaze wanders. “Toast.”

     “La-”

     “Actually, scratch that. I make _great_ toast. Exquisite, really. And Cosmo and Rem will probably be besties.”

     “Rem?”

     “Remy. My dog. After my second favourite chef, right after Hunk.”

     “I don’t-”

     “And I know you’re busy, what with all your humanitarian crap- sorry, it’s not crap-  and your mom being- wait. Are you, like, technically, the prince of the Galra? Of Daibazaal? You’re the new Lotor!”

     “Lance.”

     “Allura’s Day isn’t enough, okay?” He boops Cosmo’s nose, clearly trying extra hard not to meet Keith’s eye. “One day a year isn’t enough. I know you’re busy and you’re more accustomed to being away from everyone anyway.” Keith sucks in a breath. Lance waves his hands, eyes wide. “Wait! I didn’t mean that! I’m sorry.”

     “Lance, shut up.” He presses his eyes closed, knocking his forehead against Cosmo’s. “You don’t have to sell yourself to me, okay? I’ll visit. I want to.”

     Lance looks entirely miserable in that second, and Keith’s heart aches. It’s stupidly unfair that someone who has done so much good has to feel so bad.

     “I just miss you guys,” he says quietly. “It’s weird being by myself. I mean, I have my family. Most of them.” His eyes flit to the approaching ship, to Veronica. “And I get everyone has their own stuff to do. But being a team was, I don’t know. Good.”

     “Come work with me. The Blade is helping everyone rebuild, and you know we could use you.”

     He looks other-wordly in the morning light. He hitches half his mouth up. “Yeah. Thanks. I’ll think about it.”

     Keith’s heart sinks, because he has the distinct impression that he won’t. He works his jaw to dispel the bitter taste on his tongue.

     They drift into silence, lost in their own thoughts. The Atlas looms larger now, too big to see each end in one go. Their Wi’suty guide watches it approach, unmoving. Keith can only assume his silence means he’s ecstatic. When the large circular door in the ground opens up- first rising towards the sky, sending sand tumbling down its side- they turn their attention to that. Cosmo watches curiously as the statues appear, tiny in the expanse of the desert even at a short distance. He finally gets off Keith, zapping over to investigate. He’s back in an instant and digging into the sand at their feet. The statues halt their ascent. Their surfaces catch the last of the sunrise, sending skittering rays of colour across the white ground.

     “Do you think it’s weird, being Voltron without Voltron?”

     Keith draws his knees up, clasping his hands to loop them close to his chest. “Maybe. People mostly call me a paladin, though. They don’t really talk about the team being all together, anymore.”

     Lance hums. “People back home can’t get enough of it. Especially after that TV show. They’re making merch, now. T-shirts and stuff.”

     “Who’s they?”

     He shrugs. “People. Anyone who wants money. Maybe we should copyright the name or something. Just in case.”

     Keith purses his lips. “Earth sucks.”

     “Sometimes.” Blue eyes dance his way. “You ever visit your dad?”

     Keith rests his temple on his knee. It forces him to look at Lance. “Not for a while. Krolia’s been busy, and…” He swallows thickly.

     Lance nods. “How about ‘Llura?”

     Keith shakes his head, the guilt swelling inside him. A crease forms between Lance’s eyebrows. His eyes reflect silver and gold with the sunrise, practically glowing alongside the marks that frame them.

     “Will you come with me?” he whispers. His breath crystallises in the cold, physical proof of the words Keith strains to hear: “I want to see her. I have to. I just- I can’t go by myself.”

     He keeps his voice equally soft, struggling to speak so quietly with a voice used to shouting orders. “Of _course_ , Lance. Just tell me when.” He can’t unfurrow his brows. He pours all the sincerity he can into his gaze. He unthreads his hands to squeeze Lance’s shoulder.

     Lance nods, eyes closed. He inhales deeply, and when he blinks them open again, the shine is gone. The ship shudders around them as the Atlas makes contact with the surface.

     His cheek hitching up in a half-smile, Lance pulls him to his feet. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

     Ramps descend from the Atlas, but only a few people leak out.

     Hands cupping his mouth, Lance crows, “Ca- _caw!_ Ca- _caw!_ ”

     A second later there’s an answering call of, “ _Coo_ -wee!”

     Their helmets buzz beside them, and faintly, Keith hears Pidge tell Hunk and Lance to shut up. Laughing, Lance shoots across the sand, waving at Keith to follow. He runs after him, and when they’re side by side, Cosmo zaps to them. A second later, they’re at the base of the Atlas. Lance and Hunk cry out, running for each other rom-com style. They swing around in a tilt-a-whirl hug as the others converge on their location, careful not to get too close.

     “Oh, good,” Pidge drawls, “The air’s safe to breathe. Didn’t wanna have to vom in my helmet.” She tugs it off, tongue sticking out. Lance returns the favour.

     “Get in here, Pidgey. You know you love me.” She rolls her eyes, but can’t keep her smile contained anymore. She joins the hug alongside Shiro, and Keith is dragged in by Lance on the other side.

     “I missed you dumb crazy weirdos,” Lance sniffs. “So much.”

     Pidge grumbles, “Who you calling dumb?”

     “You,” Lance wails.

     “Oh, no, don’t _cry!_ ” Pidge starts to wiggle, but Shiro’s grip is literally iron.

     “We missed you too, Lance. Keith.”

     “ _I love you guys!_ ” Hunk bursts.

     “Love you too,” they chorus.

     Lance gasps, voice sticky, “We’re so _in sync_!”

     They fall apart in a mess of laughter and sobs. It’s been a different length of time since Allura’s Day for all of them, but coming together is like finally breathing again. Keith wonders if it will always be this way. He looks down at Lance, his fingers white where they grip Pidge’s waist and his face screwed tight where it presses into his shoulder. He opens his eyes, tilting his head back to look up at Keith. Their blue is even more startling when backlit by a cavalcade of grief and relief and joy. A tear rolls down Keith’s cheek, too, and Lance chokes out a wet laugh.

_Yeah_ , he thinks, fond and distraught, full of love but full of ruin. _This is how it’ll always be._


End file.
